


silver haze

by rissi (fullhousecast)



Series: Silver Verse [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Closeted Peter Parker, Coming Out, Gay Peter Parker, Homophobia, Recreational Drug Use, References to Depression, Texting, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Weed, weed strains as chapter titles, you demons can pry gay legend peter out of my cold dead dyke hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-04-28 18:17:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14455029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullhousecast/pseuds/rissi
Summary: It's 2:27 am, and Peter's way too high to give a fuck.(or, peter comes out)





	1. platinum wreck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> platinum wreck  
> hybrid || lineage: trainwreck || flavor: citrus/sweet/earthy

Peter huffed as his candle lighter was blown out again. He lowered the glass piece slightly inferior to the windowsill in order to shield it from the slight breeze. He winced at each sharp click of the lighter's safety release. Every sound he made was a risk.

It eventually caught, prompting Peter to cup his hand around the bowl as he inhaled. He passively watched as his breath pulled the dry green into a glowing orange. He paused to let the smoke to settle in his body, but just as quickly blew it through the insect screen fitted into his bedroom window. His lungs deflated with the rest of his body.

_ Shit, Mr. Stark would be angry at me if he knew what I was doing. Hopefully he won’t suspect it and spring a piss test on me. _

He silently agreed with himself. It’s not like he ever verbally damned nor glamorized smoking, but his age and superhero status neither ruled out or confirmed his getting high, either. Personally, he just didn’t give a fuck. He put out the rest of the greens out with his thumb. 

He shoved the bowl under his bed alongside the lighter. Fuck, he was flying. He was only concerned with whether or not May happened to smell the smoke through her window, or if he forgot to do an assignment after a night of quietly indulging. They were trivial thoughts- thoughts of his own. He didn’t have to worry about the hero bullshit. He could just be Peter. He grabbed his phone, typing in slow motion.

 

**iMessage**

**_Today, 2:27 AM_ **

 

_ Peter: Up? _

 

_ MJ: ya wuu2 _

 

_ Peter: Nothing much. High, sitting around, sad _

 

_ MJ: mood. inv me over next time u sesh u big bitch _

 

Peter breathed a slight laugh, but didn’t know where to go from there. He watched as the ‘typing’ bubble continually appeared and disappeared on MJ’s end. Clearly, she didn’t know what to say either.

 

_ MJ: fr tho u good? Like is anything specific eating at u _

 

_ Peter: Check snap gc _

__  
  


**Your Friendly Neighborhood Hooligans**

 

_ Peter: Ned you up? I need multiple opinions _

 

_ Peter: Ned wake up _

 

_ MJ: bitch! get up _

 

_ Ned: Sorry im up omg im watching Vsauce _

 

_ MJ: like ru genuinely watching it or is it to be funny… _

 

_ Ned: What’s so funny about science videos? _

 

_ Peter: Guys… Can we focus on my conundrum _

 

_ Ned: Sorry. Whats up _

 

Where did he go with this? Shit, he needed another hit. His friends knew he was gay, but he wasn’t one to talk about his struggles in the closet. He wasn’t ashamed of who he was, per se, but speaking of his identity embarrassed him in a strange way. It always left him with a feeling of discomfort, of dread. He didn’t want to bother anyone, to disgust them deep down.

Being gay wasn’t something he had to come to terms with. There was no period of questioning, of confusion. He could appreciate a pretty girl, but he never felt the need to try out a heterosexual relationship. 

 

**iMessage**

**_Tony Stark: 2 New Messages_ **

 

_ I really,  _ really  _ need another hit,  _ Peter thought as he ignored the two new texts from his mentor.

 

_ Peter: SO basically I wanna tell Mr Stark and May that I’m gay but I don’t wanna deal with like repercussions I guess? So instead of dealing with it I got way too high and now Mr Stark is texting me and I’m scared to open it _

 

_ MJ: ...shit broski _

 

_ Ned: Open it before he freaks out at you for not answering you fool _

 

_ Peter: Okay okay _

 

**iMessage**

**_Today, 2:57 AM_ **

 

_ Tony: It’s late. Why are you up? _

 

_ Tony: Your heart rate is pretty low. You okay, kid? _

 

Damn.

 

_ Peter: Fuck I’m good, just up thinking about shit _

 

He realized as soon as he hit send that it was, indeed, very uncharacteristic of him to swear in a text to his mentor. There was no way he wasn’t busted.

 

_ Tony: Hey, watch it. I don’t want to see that from you. You know it’s me you’re texting, right? You sure nothing’s up? _

 

_ Peter: Sorry _

 

_ Peter: and I’m okay ig. _

 

_ Tony: What’s wrong, Peter? _

 

He left him on read. He could wait.

 

**Your Friendly Neighborhood Hooligans**

 

_ Peter: My dumb ass just typed in high speak and Tony absolutely clocked me for it I hope he’s not onto me _

 

_ Peter: Guys for real what do I do? _

 

_ MJ: honestly? _

 

_ MJ: id just hit him w a “im a high gay depressed bitch” _

 

_ Peter: Uh no? _

 

_ Ned: Honestly, shes got a good point. You can’t keep this hidden anymore if it’s stressing you out. _

 

Peter knew he was right.

 

**iMessage**

**_Tony Stark: 1 New Message_ **

**_Tony Stark: 3 New Messages_ **

 

_ Peter: He just sent me three messages oh shit I’m so dead _

 

He didn’t want to say he was being ridiculous- his hesitance was perfectly reasonable. Every time he came out to someone, it was a gamble. He wanted to believe Mr. Stark wasn’t a homophobic piece of shit, but his high mind was writhe with worry. His sexuality was no secret at school, and pretty much nobody cared, save for a sparse number of assholes who seemed to make a point of harassing him.

 

**iMessage**

**_Tony Stark: 5 New messages_ **

 

_ Now or never,  _ Peter wagered to himself.

 

**iMessage**

**_Today, 3:06 AM_ **

 

_ Tony: Peter, answer me. _

 

_ Tony: Your heart rate just spiked but you haven’t moved. What are you doing? _

 

_ Tony: If you don’t answer me I’m going to call your aunt, I’m serious. _

 

_ Tony: Peter. _

 

_ Tony: Are you up to something? Is that it? _

 

_ Peter: Shit sorry _

 

_ Tony: It’s okay. Tell me what’s wrong. You never have to be scared of telling me anything, kid. I want you to know that. _

 

_ Tony: I’m not good with emotions, but I can read people. Don’t play dumb. _

 

_ Tony: You seem off lately. _

 

_ Peter: Shit. _

 

_ Tony: What???? _

 

_ Tony: You're not drunk, are you? _

 

_ Tony: I'm assuming you're not because you're typing so well. You're not though, right? _

 

Fuck it, if he's being honest-

 

_ Peter: Please don't get angry at me but I'm high. Just telling you now because I know you're gonna run some kind of health diagnostic and I honestly don't have the energy to deal with that rn _

 

**_Read at 3:09 AM_ **

 

**_Tony Stark is Calling_ **

 

He honestly didn't know what he was expecting. Of  _ course  _ Mr Stark would call him. He could imagine his stern reprimand already, but Peter didn't care. He just wanted to tell him what was really wrong.

"Hello?" Peter slurred into the phone.

“Peter?” Came Tony’s voice over the tinny speaker. “You better be joking.”

“Sorry.”

Tony let out some sort of pissy grunt. “What the hell, kid? What did you take? Do I need to drive over there?”

“It was weed. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out.”  _ I shouldn’t have to fucking justify myself. _

“Didn’t want me to find out?” Tony repeated, incredulous. “This isn’t something you do regularly, is it?”

“Define regularly.”

Peter caught the older man’s sigh. He could just see Tony leaning over his counter, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, rubbing his temples with his free hand. Peter could physically feel his heart picking up. If Tony was so disappointed by this, Peter wasn't sure if he could handle coming out on top of it.

"Mr Stark?" Peter prompted after a period of silence.

Another sigh. "I don't want you doing this, kid."

Another bout of silence. Peter could feel his high fading by the second, and his lack of worry disappearing with it. He didn’t want this to happen tonight. This night was supposed to be for him. Leave it to Tony to fuck it up. Leave it to Tony to berate him at every single opportunity.

“Why does it even fucking matter, Tony?” 

A scoff, and then, “ _ What  _ did you just say to me?”

“I said,” Peter seethed, “Why the fuck does it matter? Why do you care? I can’t fuck anything up when I’m high, so it shouldn’t matter what I do on my own time. It’s none of your damn business!”

“Hey, you little shit,” Tony bit back just as sharply, “Of  _ course  _ it’s my business! I don’t want you getting hurt because of your dumb decisions!”

Peter laughed, dry and breathy. “That’s all you care about- damage control. You don’t give two shits about me, you only bother so I don’t end up embarrassing you!”

“Oh, come on, Peter. Don’t play the martyr. You know damn well that isn’t true.”

Peter stopped suddenly. In hindsight, that was a really shitty accusation. He wasn’t mad at Tony, really. He was deflecting; avoiding the matter at hand. At this junction of his life, Tony was the only one who could understand the changes he was adjusting to.

“Sorry, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony,” he reminded, gently. 

“Tony,” Peter agreed, voice just as soft.

They lapsed into another silence.

“You okay, Pete?”

_ Silence. _

“Pete.” 

“Sorry, what?”

Tony huffed, but not out of annoyance. Peter could easily detect pity- no, worry would be a better word. “I asked if you were okay. Please, kid, you don’t even know how much it hurts me to see you suffer. Don’t shut me out now.”

Peter broke at that, wincing as he felt the first tear slip out. He tried in vain to stop them, but it wasn’t long until he was reduced to sobbing. He didn’t want to keep secrets anymore. It hurt too much.

“My heart is aching for you, Peter, but I can’t help you unless you trust me.” He paused, as if to ponder his next words. 

"Just-" Peter started, too frustrated to hear whatever Tony had to say next. "Just hold on. I need a second."

Tony stopped talking. Peter scrubbed his cheek with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. 

"I don't want you to hate me, Tony. I'm so, so scared that you will."

"Hate you?" Tony asked, sounding as if he had hear Peter wrong. "You know I don't. Why would I?"

Peter choked out something that fell between a laugh and a sob. "I'm so fucked up."

"What, from smoking weed, or in general?"

"In general," Peter clarified. "You killed my vibe the moment you texted me."

Tony chuckled. "Funny. Now, why do you say that? I don't know if you realized, but I'm pretty fucked up too."

Peter couldn't handle this anymore. "Shit, Tony. I'm gay, and it's literally taking me all of my courage to tell you this." Peter listened for any sort of reaction before continuing. "I'm sorry, I just can't hide it anymore. Everyone at school already knows, and I know it's not that big of a deal, but some people still give me trouble for it. I try to ignore it, but it's just so incredibly  _discouraging._ "

Peter anticipated Tony to pause, to struggle to reply to the distressed teenager. What he didn't anticipate, however, was an immediate relieved reply from his mentor. "That's it, kid?"

"What do you mean, 'that's it'?" Peter asked out of genuine curiosity. 

"I don't mean 'that's it' because you're struggling," Tony quickly clarified. "I can only imagine how hard it is for you, and I know this isn't going to make your problems go away, but I need to know that there is nothing you can say to turn me away. I always want to be a safe place for you."

He couldn't muster anything legible, instead opting to babble broken thanks into the speaker.

"Don't thank me, Pete," Tony soothed. "You shouldn't thank me for not being a piece of shit. You can thank me all you want when I get the little pricks who're harassing you suspended, though."

_ You shouldn't thank me for not being a piece of shit.  _ Tony was right- he shouldn't be grateful for people treating him well, he should expect it.

"I'm not thanking you for accepting me. I'm thanking you for letting me finally relax. You don't even know how much better I feel now."

"I'm glad."

"Me too."

Peter smiled, even though he knew Tony couldn't see him do it.

"Oh, and kid?" 

"Yeah?" 

Tony's voice suddenly became firm. "Expect drug tests from now on."

Peter groaned. "Will you at least warn me about them beforehand?"

"Watch it, shit-for-brains," Tony scolded before letting his tone go lax once more. "Get some sleep, Peter. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay. Goodnight, Tony. Thanks for everything."

"No problem. Goodnight."

Peter hung up his phone, quickly opening Snapchat.

 

**Your Friendly Neighborhood Hooligans**

 

_Peter: So the best shit just happened_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this while i was high. can you tell my dyke ass is in the closet  
> fic requests are open on my [tumblr!](https://iron-arachnid.tumblr.com/)  
> 


	2. orange dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey there, Snoop Dogg! You spark up yet today?” Tony asked as he approached Peter on the street, smiling wide and clapping him square on the back.
> 
> “Don’t even start,” Peter warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> orange dream  
> hybrid || lineage: orange crush/blue dream || flavor: citrus/orange/vanilla

Peter woke up, the overwhelming relief on his mind overshadowing the grimy, burnt taste of bud that remained on his tongue from mere hours ago.  
He rolled over, plucking his phone off of the floor and groaning at the nearly depleted battery.  
  
**iMessage** ****  
**Tony Stark, 2 New Messages**  
  
Peter ignored the ridiculous anxiety that suddenly sprouted in his throat, not allowing himself to get unnecessarily hyped up upon seeing the two new messages.

 **iMessage** ****  
**_Today, 9:03 AM_ ** ****  
  
_Tony: Morning! Why don’t you catch the ol’ pineapple express and meet me for lunch?_  
  
_Tony: How does 12:30 sound? I want P.F. Chang’s_  
  
_Peter: Youre not funny, and neither was Pineapple Express. Pick a better movie to reference next time_

 _Peter: I’ll see you there_  
  
Peter made his way to the bathroom after carefully hiding his bowl in his nightstand drawer. He took extra care to wash his face and hands as he showered, ridding the pungent scent off of his person. Once he was clean, he brushed his teeth thoroughly and took a swig of mouthwash (just to be safe). He grabbed his phone from the lip of the sink once he was finished ‘hiding the evidence’.  
  
**iMessage** ****  
**_Today, 9:22 AM_ ** ****

_Tony: Sounds good. Got any other places you wanna stop while we’re out? We can make a day of it._

Peter responded- a polite “Sure, sounds good!”- before tossing his phone onto his bed with a happy sigh. Coming out to Tony was, by no means, a fix-all for his problems. His stress extended beyond his sexuality, but his late night phone call with his mentor allowed him to sleep and wake peacefully for the first time in months. Tony was a comfort, surely, but Peter still had May to come out to.

 _Damn, the gay agenda never rests_ , Peter mused as he looked for a pair of jeans that didn’t smell like teenage boy.

He entered the living room to find May sipping on a cup of coffee and looking at her laptop. She glanced up at him, shooting a warm smile his way. “Morning! Why are you dressed before noon on a Saturday?”

“I’m gonna grab lunch with Mr Stark,” Peter explained as he poured an objectively large amount of creamer into the coffee May set out for him.

May nodded, not looking up from her screen as her nail tapped away on the track-pad. “Sounds fun! Anything else exciting happening today?”

Peter swallowed the mouthful of coffee he was working on. “Dunno, actually. Mr Stark said we could hit some shops if I wanted to. I might do something with Ned and MJ once I get home.”

“Shopping too, huh? What’s the occasion?”

 _No occasion, he’s just taking me out because he feels bad for me,_ his mind silently answered. _Also, I’m gay and I trusted my boss with it before you. Sorry!_

Peter set his coffee down, suddenly finding it far too acidic. “No occasion,” He assured, digging his nails into the heel of his left hand.

 

—

“Hey there, Snoop Dogg! You spark up yet today?” Tony asked as he approached Peter on the street, smiling wide and clapping him square on the back. Now that the initial shock of their late-night conversation died down, Tony was clearly going to use the whole ‘secret stoner situation’ to his comedic advantage.

“Don’t even start,” Peter warned, though his voice came out strained and humiliated.

“Come on, kid, why so uptight?” Tony tried again. “Why don’t we chill out, light up a doobie, maybe watch a Cheech and Chong movie?” He raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for a reaction.

Peter groaned, batting Tony’s hand off of his back. “Oh, my God. You talk like you’re from another planet.”

Peter knew that Tony was teasing, trying to kick a laugh out of him after his fearful admittance from the night prior. He can only imagine being in Mr Stark’s position, having to console an intoxicated kid through something he himself had never dealt with.

 _How pathetic did I sound when I dumped that on him?_ _  
_

Peter’s newfound contentment was briefly washed out by a new thought to anxiously ponder. He rolled his lips between his teeth as they walked, glancing at the older man’s face. He couldn’t detect any discomfort or awkwardness on Tony’s part, but he was nearly impossible to read behind his Ray-Bans.

“Your staring’s really starting to stress me out, kid.”

Peter gasped, shifting his eyes forward. “Sorry, Mr Stark. Totally zoned out there. I didn’t even realize I was doing that,” He clumsily lied.

“So it’s Mr Stark again?” Tony inquired, sounding less than pleased with the formal name. “Thought you were finally done with that.”

Peter shrugged, giving a noncommittal grunt. “Sorry, force of habit.”

_I don’t want to make this too personal. You’ve already heard enough about my bullshit to last three lifetimes._

Tony held the restaurant door open for him. “Well, cut it out. Makes me feel like I’m talking to an employee.”

Just as Peter was about to reply with, ‘Am I not technically just an employee?’ A nervous young waiter hurried over to seat the celebrity.

—

“Peter, you’ve been eating that lettuce wrap for six minutes."

Peter glanced up at Tony and then to the meat-stuffed lettuce in his hands. Peter would usually finish four of the things in half the time, but he couldn’t seem to muster up an appetite.

Tony continued to stare him down. Peter couldn’t tell if he was waiting for him to respond or to finish the wrap. He did both.

“Sorry, Mr Stark,” apologized Peter, licking oil off of the pads of his fingers. “I guess my mind is elsewhere.”

“Oh?” Mr Stark prompted, shifting his chopsticks in his hands. “Do tell.”

He wasn’t sure where to go with this. The irrational part of him still screamed to be silent, to not bother his boss with his stupid problems.

The rational side of him detected the hint of worry in Tony’s otherwise springy tone.

“I don’t know.”

Tony frowned. “You ‘don’t know’?”

“Yep. I don’t,” Peter responded, lamely.

Tony’s frowned persisted as he pulled his napkin off of his lap, dabbing a bit of duck sauce from his hand. It was obvious that he could see Peter’s problem, he just didn’t know how to offer his help.

“Look, Pete,” Tony started, replacing the napkin onto his lap. “I’m so glad you trust me. I’m glad you told me what’s been eating at you, but-” He was suddenly looking at Peter very pointedly, folding his hands. “I need you to hear _me_ now, kid. I couldn’t care less that you’re gay. It doesn’t change the way I see you at all.”

“I _know_ that!” Peter whined, sounding like an upset child more so than usual.

“I don’t think you do,” Tony countered, trying to keep his voice level and soothing. “You seem tense- humiliated, almost. You’re scared that I’m secretly disgusted.” He paused, regrouping his words. “No, that isn’t right,” Tony decided. “You aren’t scared of disgust, you’re scared of abandonment.”

Peter looked ready to argue, and then- “Tony, do you think May will still love me?” He asked timidly, barely a mumble.

Tony’s brow wrinkled. “Come again?”

“I said-“

Tony waved his hand, silencing Peter. “No, no. I heard you. I just can’t understand where you’re coming from.”

Peter huffed, louder. “Put yourself in my shoes, Tony.”

(Tony tried to imagine it- Peter admitting something that had the potential of ripping families to the only family the poor kid had left. It was, decidedly, not a fun circumstance.)

“Point taken,” Tony digressed. “I understand why you’re scared, Pete, but this is _May_ we’re talking about. She, of all people, will love you no matter what.”

Peter imagined May at that moment- her thick, bluntly cut hair, her Mediterranean skin freckled with sunspots and faint wrinkles. He could smell her Cody powder and her rose conditioner, could feel her naturally strong nails massaging his scalp after a particularly bad day.

May was a comfort. May was _home._

When Peter finally looked up at Tony, he was met with a smile that he immediately reciprocated.

“Thanks, Tony.”

—

Later that night, Peter heard a gentle knock at the door. He smiled as he called a “come in” through the door- the knock was so distinctively May’s.

May pushed open the door, glasses folded and hanging off of the collar of her shirt. “Hey, lovebug. Just wanted to say goodnight.”

“G’night, May.”

She smiled tiredly, turning to pull the door closed.

“May?”

She stuck her head back in the room. “Yeah?” May responded.

He hesitated. “Nothing,” Peter decided. “Just wanted to ask if I could work on my AP micro project with Ned tomorrow.”

“Of course, Peter. His place or here?”

“His, probably.”

“Sounds good,” she confirmed. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Sleep well.”

When the door clicked closed, Peter immediately scrubbed his hands over his face.

 _Stupid,_ he reprimanded himself. _So stupid. A perfect opportunity to tell her, wasted._

Peter went for his phone, ready to tell Tony that ‘Operation Tell May’ was a no-go when he saw a new message appear on his lock screen.

 

**iMessage**

**_Today, 9:57 PM_ **

 

_MJ: up ?_

 

_Peter: Yea its only 10 dude_

 

_MJ: u never know u big ol nerd_

 

_Peter: Whatever whats up_

 

_MJ: u got any of that silver haze left_

 

_Peter: Yeah like 1.5g why_

 

_MJ: omg spidey over here n lets get blazed my guy my dads not home_

 

_Peter: Omfg i wish, Tony is drug testing me from now on so I cant :(_

 

_MJ: ur actually so dumb_

 

_MJ: u literally just smoked last night it makes no difference he’ll never find out_

 

Peter shrugged to himself. The girl had a point.

 

_Peter: Shit u right.., I'll be there in like an hr_

 

_MJ: dope can we watch futurama_

 

_Peter: I mean what else would we do_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanna continue this but i gotta know if the homies like it. let me know!  
> i dont have a lot of extre time with exams coming up so if this gets like no comments i’ll discontinue it  
> fic requests are open on my [tumblr!](https://iron-arachnid.tumblr.com/)  
> 


	3. lemon diesel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wanna play Webkinz? We should play Webkinz. I had, like, twenty of them when I was little.”  
> Peter laughed for an unreasonably long time, going in for another fistful of tortilla chips. “That’s, like, the third time you’ve asked me to play Webkinz tonight, Michelle.” He paused to shove the chips into his mouth. “The answer is yes, by the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lemon diesel  
> hybrid || lineage: california sour/lost coast OG || flavor: diesel/lemon

Where Peter was a chill, ‘let’s lay around and watch half of a season of _That 70’s Show”_ kind of high; MJ could, quite literally, _not_ stop talking.

“Wanna play Webkinz? We should play Webkinz. I had, like, twenty of them when I was little.”

Peter laughed for an unreasonably long time, going in for another fistful of tortilla chips. “That’s, like, the third time you’ve asked me to play Webkinz tonight, Michelle.” He paused to shove the chips into his mouth. “The answer is yes, by the way. I gotta check on my poor babies, too.”

“I _can’t,_ though!” Michelle sounded genuinely upset. “I can’t feel my arms. You can’t play Webkinz without arms!”

“Use your toes, then,” Peter suggested, more concerned with watching _Futurama_ than with helping MJ regain the use of her limbs.

Peter really appreciated MJ’s company. Part of the beauty of her reserved nature was just how trustworthy she was. She was incredibly tight-lipped, and since she distanced herself from gossip, Peter knew that she would never let his secrets slip. She was the perfect person to vent to, and Peter was happy to listen to her troubles in turn.

The stress of the last couple days seemed to melt away as he watched MJ fumble to plug in her laptop. He loved the girl, truly. Just being around her caused Peter to feel safe. When she was around her friends, she was wonderfully warm and so damn _funny._ Some of his best memories from mundane high school life involved being doubled over with laughter at MJ’s humor. If Peter was being honest, kicking it with MJ was one of his favorite things to do.

“I give up,” MJ announced, shutting her laptop and grabbing Peter’s glass piece for round three.

Peter wasn’t sure if she needed another hit, considering how spacey she already was. “More?” He asked, impressed.

MJ cocked her head at Peter, raising her brows and pointing at him with the end of the lighter. “You can always get higher, my man.”

Peter mimicked her raised brow, finger-gunning back at her. “Damn, you’re so right,” he agreed, watching her light the bud.

She took a few short pulls, ghosting each of them before passing the bowl to Peter. “So, how are things going? Like, coming out wise?” She asked.

He accepted the pipe. “All is well in Tony town-“ Peter immediately cut himself off, actually _hissing_ with laughter at the phrase ‘Tony town’ before continuing- “But May still doesn’t know. It’s annoying, but whatever.”

“Why don’t you tell her?” MJ inquired lazily, eyes hooded and dry.

Ouch. There’s a question that Peter was in no mood to ponder.

“Shit, dude, your eyes! Never seen them so red!” _I’m not avoiding the matter at hand_ , Peter assured himself. _I’ll answer it on my own time. I’d rather make fun of MJ’s eyes._

MJ hummed. “Why don’t you?” She tried again, shifting to lean her head on his shoulder.

A bite of the lip. “Damn.” A sigh and another pull off the bowl. “I don’t know, man.”

“I think you do.”

He blew the ash out the window and put an arm around MJ, wrapping her into a tight hug. “It’s a stupid reason.”

“There really aren’t any ‘stupid reasons’ when it comes to this.”

“It’s just, I guess- I guess I’m not _scared_ to come out to her.” He reached over her lap for the bag of chips. “I know she won’t care or anything, but I feel like I’m depriving her of stuff.”

“Depriving?” She repeated.

Peter lifted a chip to her mouth, frowning distractedly as she accepted it with her teeth. “Yeah, depriving. I just feel bad about where my life is gonna go. I’ll never be able to bring a  pretty girl to homecoming or make her a grandmother- grand aunt, I guess? I feel like I’m robbing her, almost.”

MJ finished chewing. “Uh, _no_? I don’t want to hear that,” she chided, resting her chin on his chest and looking up at him. “It’d be really shitty if May put taking a girl to homecoming over your wellbeing. Don’t forget that this is about you, not her.”

He tightened his grip around her, whimpering as she immediately brought a comforting hand to his cheek. “I’m so scared, MJ- so scared, and so fucking _sad._ ” He leaned into her touch, that of love and warmth and safety.  He didn’t try to stop the sobs from leaving his mouth. “I don’t wanna deal with this anymore- I _can’t_ deal with this anymore. It’s too much. It’s just too much.”

MJ didn’t respond for a short while, instead choosing to gently soothe Peter with soft touches and calming hums. Knowing how poorly he responded to overstimulation,  she wanted to ensure that he was calm enough before trying to rationalize with him.

MJ was incredibly empathetic, no matter what the front she put up implied. Her response to the pain of others often overshadowed her attention to  her own problems. She wouldn’t call it a way of avoiding her troubles, it was more of a coping method to understand them better.

The soft snivels from Peter made her heart ache. From what little she could see of his face conveyed an incredible amount of dejection. The hands raking over her shoulders were loose and clumsy, his muscles weakened from the crying and smoking. She eventually chose to remain silent, opting to physically comfort him in lieu of attempting to help solve his problems. All the poor kids needed now was a long, strong hug. He didn’t need to worry.

 

____

 

**iMessage**

**_Today, 8:30 AM_ **

 

_Tony: Kalimera_

 

_Tony: I’m reinforcing the sleeves of your suit to reduce the stress you put on your flexors but I need to take a couple measurements. Can you be over soon?_

 

_Peter: Kalimera? Did you just call me a squid_

 

_Tony: No, it’s Greek for ‘good morning’. You’re thinking of kalamari_

 

_Tony: Although kalamari is Greek as well now that I think about it_

 

_Tony: Can you come or not?_

 

_Peter: Yeah give me like an hr_

 

_Tony: Sounds good. See you then_

 

Though improving his suit with Tony was usually the highlight of a dull Sunday, Peter couldn’t focus. It wasn’t possible to busy himself with work while last night’s conversation with MJ was still fresh on his mind. He absentmindedly spun himself on a stool, looking at his phone while Tony worked.

“Could I see your hand really quick? I need a measurement of your wrist. Your web shooters aren’t fitting on right with these new modifications.”

Peter didn’t look up from his phone, offering his arm to Tony without a word. Instead of getting a retractable tape measure around his wrist, he was met with an unexpected prick of his finger.

“Hey!” Peter protested, pressing his thumb onto his forefinger to stop the bleeding. “What the _hell,_ Tony?”

Tony ignored him, smearing the small bead of blood onto a slide. “FRIDAY, could you get me a toxicology report for this blood, please?”

“Certainly. I’m initializing the analysis now.”

Peter swallowed harshly, speechless from the unannounced drug test. “Mr Stark,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “It’s only been two days, you know what’s gonna show up.”

 _He shouldn’t be able to tell, right? It can’t make a difference. It_ couldn’t.

“I know what I’ll find,” Tony started, taking a seat next to Peter to wait for the results. “But FRIDAY can detect toxin concentration levels accurately enough to gauge how long it’s been since you last absorbed something you shouldn’t be absorbing.”

_Fuck._

“And,” he continued, not allowing Peter to respond, “I also happened to notice that you went out last night and stayed at the same location for hours without a report. Where were you?”

“MJ’s house. We had a _Futurama_ marathon.” Peter decided to leave it at that- no need to add salt to the wound by lying.

“Sounds fun.”

Peter nodded, anxiety bubbling in the pit of his stomach as the test reached its conclusion. “It was.”

“I’m detecting moderate amounts of Tetrahydrocannabinol,” FRIDAY finally reported. “8.4 nanograms of THC per milligram of serum. Factoring in Peter’s BMI of 21.6, it is conclusive that THC consumption occurred around eleven hours ago.”

“It’s been two days, huh?” The disappointed look Peter received made his stomach churn with guilt. Tony sounded entirely bemused.

Peter considered the circumstance- on one hand, he pretty much completely abused his mentor’s trust, but the night he spent with MJ made it seem worth it.

“Sorry.”

“Oh, ‘sorry’ is all I get?” Tony asked, a clipped scoff escaping. “Hell no. You know I don’t want this happening, and yet you couldn’t even wait a _day_ before going behind my back!”

“What happened to you being understanding?” Peter demanded, voice raising.

“Don’t you _dare_ pull that card!” Tony was _really_ pissed now. “That doesn’t apply to the situation. I know you’re going through stuff, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to be a conniving, secretive little shit!”

Peter laughed, somewhere between incredulous and offended. “So I’m conniving now, huh? Surprise, Tony, but not everything I do is malicious.” He stopped,  taking a glance at the dried blood on his fingers. “You snap at me for every little thing I do. I can get why you don’t like me smoking, but did you have to actually fucking _assault_ me just to prove your point?”

Tony, who was ready to snap back with a well-placed retort, shut his mouth at that. Perhaps he _did_ act rashly- Peter was just an impressionable teenager, after all. The kid’s lack of coping experience clouded his ability to properly deal with his issues. Tony felt oddly young at that moment, as though he, too, was fifteen again; briskly pouring different types of liquor into an empty water bottle while praying his parents wouldn’t hear the glass bottles clink against the pantry’s Lazy Susan as he replaced them.

The memory allowed him to sympathize with Peter. He spun his stool to face him, fixing him with an empathetic gaze and a hand on the shoulder. “Look, Pete,” Tony began, voice softened. “I was your age once, too. I can’t even _begin_  to relate to all the shit you’re going through, but I know the feeling of having to be hush-hush around the people you look up to.”

Peter opened his mouth to respond, but Tony was quick to shut him down with a point of the finger. “I’m not done, buddy. I get that you feel you can’t trust me, but I want you to know that I’m not just being an asshole adult trying to ruin all the fun. You also have to realize that I’ve been alive a lot longer than you. I know what I’m talking about.” When Peter didn’t try to answer, Tony continued on. “I don’t mind if you’re getting your ‘bad boy’ phase out of your system, but it looks like this is beyond teenage rebellion- it’s a habit. I don’t want you doing this as often as you do.”

Peter, who was too busy staring at the hand on his shoulder, took a minute to formulate a response. This was a complete shift in the tone of the argument they were just having. Tony wasn’t just a guy trying to wreck his good time anymore- he was looking out for him; Peter saw this now. The rage he felt was quickly overshadowed with regret, wincing at how immaturely he was carrying himself just moments before.

Without putting much thought into it, Peter grasped Tony’s wrist; removing it from his arm and placing it around his body. He allowed himself to feel childish as he wrapped Tony in a hug, desperately seeking consolation from the embrace.

Tony wasn’t surprised. He instantly shot a comforting hand onto the crown of Peter’s head, allowing the boy to cry into his grease-stained hoodie. Though he had no familial connection to the teen, he briefly felt as though he were his father. He understood Peter beyond simply being a superhero who lost his parents- he was a child looking for numbness; an escape from the intense stressors hanging over him. The poor boy was _drowning_ , and Tony offered nothing but reprimands and screaming.

Talk about guilt.

Tony tucked a short strand of hair behind Peter’s ear. “I've got you, kid. You don’t have to worry.”

Peter answered with another sob.

“I’ve got you, Pete.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fic requests are open on my [tumblr!](https://iron-arachnid.tumblr.com/)  
> 


	4. durban poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His cathartic response to self-doubt was the physical manifestation of injury. Pain meant he was putting in an honest effort. He carefully pressed on one of his large bruises, relishing in the hubris that came with the damage. They were a gorgeous visual of his hard work; benign war wounds showing through the otherwise plain expanse of his skin.  
> They allowed him to feel just a little less useless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> durban poison  
> sativa || lineage: african || flavor: earthy/sweet/pine

Tony’s consoling embrace, while much needed, ended quite quickly on part of Peter. Tony was a bit discombobulated at the jerky breaking of the hug, but understood when he saw the poorly-masked embarrassment on Peter’s face. The kid clearly felt stupid for his moment of fragility, not wanting to be seen as a child who needed comforting.

“Sorry, Mr Stark.” His eyes quirked leftward.

Tony ruffled Peter’s hair before smoothing his hand down the curve of his scalp, squeezing reassuringly at the base of his neck. “Nope- don’t want to hear an apology. I just acted like a complete dick. I’m in the wrong here.”

“Oh, I _know_ you’re in the wrong-“ Tony resisted the urge to bemusedly quirk his brow at that- “That’s not what I’m apologizing for.”

“What’s there to apologize for, then?” Tony was genuinely curious.

Peter pursed his lips, choosing his words. “Being a brat, for one. Going behind your back; getting high when you told me not to.” He paused. “Not trusting you with my personal life.”

“I wouldn’t say that you didn’t trust me,” Tony suggested. “You were just scared to see how how I’d react, so you hesitated. Sexuality can’t be an easy thing to talk about, especially when you can’t gauge what the other person’s response is gonna be.”

Peter grunted in agreement. “This whole ‘coming out’ thing is fucking stupid.”

“Watch your mouth,” Tony warned, although not sternly. “I can only imagine how hard this is on you, kid. I just wish I could help you more. Is there anything I can do? If anyone’s giving you a hard time, I can take care of it.”

Peter’s mind briefly strayed to Flash, who maliciously chose subtlety homophobic insults that evaded the ears of teachers and administrators. He wanted the harassment to stop, but it wasn’t like he had proof.  
Even if he _could_ prove that this was happening, he didn’t want to complain. The insults were relatively mild in comparison to what other LGBT kids had to endure. He was sure that Tony didn’t want to waste his time threatening a random fifteen year old who called his intern a fag.

Peter finally settled on giving a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s fine, honestly.” Tony looked like he was ready to continue pressing him, but Peter didn’t let him. “I promise. I can totally handle it.”

Tony still didn’t seem convinced. “You better not be lying to me, Pete.”

“I’m _not_ ,” he reiterated. “I’ll be okay.”

Tony finally relented. “Okay, okay; I believe you.” He paused to glance at the time on his phone. “It’s nearly four, you’d better get out of here if you wanna get to spidering while it’s still light out.”

Peter nodded, pushing himself out of his stool and making his way to the door. “See ya, Mr Stark!” He called.

He watched the kid retreat. Before Tony could stop himself, he called after him.

“Pete?”

Peter stopped, turning back. “What’s up?”

A pause, and then: “Stay safe, okay?”

-

He nearly collapsed when pushing himself out of bed the following morning. The sheer amount of soreness in his body was enough to make him grip the edge of his nightstand for support. He tentatively attempted to take a step, wincing as the fronts of his quads flared up. Bruises began delicately at his ankles and continued up the lengths of his shins, intensifying into large splotches of carmine around his knees. The pain was sharper in his left knee- no doubt a sprain. Visceral aches tugged at the tops of his shoulders, signifying matching pulls in both of his delts. As he expected, his wrist was swollen from trying to catch himself after a misplaced web yesterday. He was definitely a bit too careless while patrolling.

Peter didn’t mind the overwhelming soreness; in fact, it was mentally relieving for him. His cathartic response to self-doubt was the physical manifestation of injury. Pain meant he was putting in an honest effort. He carefully pressed on one of his large bruises, relishing in the hubris that came with the damage. They were a gorgeous visual of his hard work; benign war wounds showing through the otherwise plain expanse of his skin. They allowed him to feel just a little less useless.

Staggering into the kitchen, Peter made a straight shot to the basket of medicine on the kitchen counter. He popped four Advil caplets under his tongue and chased them down with a swig of water straight from the faucet. His next stop was the linen closet, where he procured a knee splint and ace bandages. The bandages were pulled around his aching wrist, and the splint was secured over his left knee to reduce any unnecessary movement to the sprain.

Going from class-to-class that day was, in all respects, absolute fucking _misery_. It hurt to walk, of course, but the questioning glances at his limp and wrapped limbs were even more annoying to deal with. Within the span of his first three classes, five of his peers questioned him about his injuries. He offered a realistic excuse of chronic pain, frequently making sure that the hood of his jacket was covering the rapidly healing abrasions on his shoulders and neck.

Coach Wilson took one look at him and offhandedly excused him from participating in P.E for the day. He didn’t have to be told twice, taking a seat in the far-right corner of the gym.

He made eye contact with MJ from across the floor, immediately gesturing for her to come over with a nod of his head. She quickly scoped the gym for Coach Wilson before slinking over to him. They quietly ducked out of the room before anyone could notice their absence.

“Where’s Ned?” Peter asked, realizing the missing presence of his best friend in the gym.

“Dentist’s. What happened to your knee?”

“Went too hard on the crime-fighting yesterday,” He admitted. “My legs hurt like hell, but I was just trying to distract myself. Tony sprung this super accurate drug test on me- he literally pinpointed it to the hour.”

MJ grimaced. “Figures. What’d he do?”

“He was pissed at first. I’m pretty sure he called me a ‘conniving little shit’, but I was too angry to remember.”

“Gross. That’s actually _not_ okay.” Her lips were pulled taut. “I can’t stand when adults belittle their kids instead of talking to them like people.”

“M’not his kid,” Peter quietly protested before continuing. “I honestly don’t blame him for snapping; I totally went behind his back. He just wants the best for me, and I couldn’t even wait a day before saying ‘fuck it’ and doing exactly what he didn’t want me to do.”

Even though MJ’s face remained lax, Peter could see slight guilt in her eyes. “Okay, that one’s my fault. I’m the one who convinced you to smoke.” She too frequently blamed herself for things she didn’t do, and Peter detested it.

“It’s not like you held a gun to my head. I did it on my own free will.” He smiled reassuringly, lacing his arm with hers as they settled on a bench in the hallway. “Plus, we got to talk about Webkinz for thirty minutes, which is always a plus.”

She chuckled, bringing her fingers to his hair and gently mussing it up. “Did you end up making amends with him?”

He smiled at the affection. “Yeah- it went really well.”

—

Peter was annoyingly famished when he got home from school. He sifted through the fridge about ten times, none of the readily available food looking that appealing. Deciding that he was too lazy to actually cook anything, he decided to check the pantry again (just in case he missed something good during his first few times looking). He eventually gave up, grabbing the jar of peanut butter.

May arrived home then, mouth opening to greet him. Her ‘hello’ died on her lips in favor of a disapproving click of the tongue. “Couldn’t you just eat a bagel or something?” She admonished as he shoveled a disgustingly large spoonful of peanut butter into his mouth.

Peter shrugged. “Nothing looks good,” he explained, although the sticky food obstructing his tongue made his words come out as _“noth’n ‘ookth gooth.”_

“What’re you feeling?” May asked, opening the fridge after hanging her purse on the back of a chair. “Sweet? Savory? Spicy? We can order something, if you want.”

Peter finished swallowing. “I’m honestly indifferent to all of those options.”

May turned her attention to the freezer. “There’s a couple burritos in here. What about Stouffer’s macaroni? You can heat it up and I can steam some vegetables for you.”

“Don’t worry about it, May. You don’t have to wait on me the moment you step in the door.”

She replaced the box of frozen macaroni and stepped over to him, kissing the side of my head. “It’s no trouble at all, lovebug. I don’t want you to eat a jar of peanut butter for dinner.”

Peter leaned into her touch, flushing with affection at her attentiveness. She squeezed his shoulder before making her way to the sink to wash her hands. “So, macaroni and vegetables okay?”

“Sounds good,” he confirmed, taking a seat at the counter as he watched her move around the kitchen.  
May had pushed her sleeves up to her elbows and tucked her hair into a loose bun. She hummed quietly as she splashed some olive oil into a skillet. _She has a beautiful voice,_ Peter thought to himself. _I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have her._

_Too bad I’m basically fucking lying to her._

She seemed to notice his staring, looking back at him with a smile. “You okay, Pete?”

He dropped his gaze, embarrassed. “Yeah, sorry.”

She could always tell when something was off. Not wanting to scare him into silence, she continued to cut up a stalk of broccoli and remained casual. “What’s wrong?” She prompted.

Silence. “Nothing.”

A glance up at her nephew revealed him staring down at his shaking hands. His jaw was clenched, a sign that always gave away that something was, indeed, very wrong.

She set down her knife, placing her hands flat on the counter. “Baby?” She tried again, concerned about the distress he was trying to hide.

Peter looked up from his hands, seeming terribly young and vulnerable at that moment. His brows were downturned and his lips were rolled between his teeth, moisture collecting in the corners of his eyes.

Her heart broke at that. She briskly made her way around the island, tugging him off of his stool and into a tight hug.

He let himself cry as May tucked his head into her neck. This action was achingly familiar, May always a loving comfort no matter what. He felt the soft skin of her face on his damp cheek. He couldn’t see her, but he knew her expression was contorted into one of pain. Nothing hurt her more than seeing Peter upset.

“May?” His voice came out high; quiet. He didn’t lift his head from her shoulder.

“What is it, honey?” She soothed, rubbing the small of his back.

“I’m-“ He stopped, looking up to her. His lip quivered. “I’m gay, Aunt May.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really, really appreciate your comments!! they motivate me to keep writing <3  
> fic requests are open on my [tumblr!](https://iron-arachnid.tumblr.com/)  
> 


	5. white lavender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thirteen new texts and six missed calls from Tony. Five texts from MJ. Four from Ned.
> 
> “I don’t want to hear anything else about this.”
> 
> Three Xanax. A gram of bud.
> 
> No words from Aunt May.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> white lavender  
> hybrid || lineage: white widow/lavender || flavor: lavender/lemon

Peter’s “who the fuck cares” attitude began the moment he walked out of that kitchen.

 _“I love you Peter,”_ May had said. _“I always will. I just- I don’t...“_

He spent that whole night awake. He wasn’t very tired.

_“I have old Italian values, honey. I’m from a different generation.”_

He cancelled on Tony the next day, claiming that he didn’t feel so good. Peter didn’t answer when his mentor asked what was wrong.

_“You’re too young to know that for sure, alright? You might meet a nice girl when you’re older. Just give them a chance for me.”_

On Wednesday night, he took two of May’s Xanax without really thinking it through. He decided that he liked how it turned his body off.

_“Go to bed. I need time to think.”_

Thirteen new texts and six missed calls from Tony. Five texts from MJ. Four from Ned.

_“I don’t want to hear anything else about this.”_

Three Xanax. A gram of bud.

No words from Aunt May.

—

On Thursday, Peter went to school high.

It was something he promised himself he would never do. The thought of facing his peers and teachers slurring his words and reeking of weed had always repulsed him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to write a word or answer a question.

Ned made a straight shot for Peter when he stumbled into first period AP micro. He grasped his best friend’s bicep and sat him at a desk, claiming the chair next to him. Pete couldn’t tell if Ned was worried or disgusted, but he didn’t really care either way. No amount of disappointment from Ned could rival the uncomfortable strain he had seen on May’s face.

“I swear to God, Pete, if you’re-“

Peter lifted his head. Ned didn’t need to finish his sentence when he saw the red, hooded eyes looking back at him.

”You fucking dumbass,” Ned seethed. “You absolute idiot.”

Peter shrugged, biting the cap of his pen.

Ned unlocked his phone under the desk, making sure the teacher didn’t see him do it.

—

**Your Friendly Neighborhood Hooligans**

_Ned: MJ_

_Ned: Meet us in C hall Peter’s super fucking high_

_MJ: holy fuck_

_MJ: p seriously?_

_MJ: you cant show up to school like that! r u trying to get expelled_

_Ned: He says to tell you that he doesn’t care if he gets expelled_

_MJ: okay wow_

_MJ: ill see u in a sec_

—  
  
“Put your head on the desk and keep it down,” Ned whispered to Peter before raising his hand.

The teacher wasn’t pleased that her lecture on corporate cost minimization was being interrupted. “What is it, Ned?”

“Peter says he’s about to pass out. Can I walk him to the nurse, please?”

The teacher sighed. “He can go by himself. This is exam material, you need to be here.”

Ned was never one to talk back to teachers, but he made an exception just this once. “School policy says that sick students have to be escorted to the nurse if they can’t walk on their own.” He stood, tugging Peter up by the arm. “I’ll be quick.”

—

“At least _try_ to walk, you moron.”

Peter continued to drag his feet, allowing Ned to shoulder the majority of his weight. Peter usually had no problem moving after smoking, so he chalked his sluggishness up to the two milligram bars he had for breakfast.

He didn’t want to face MJ after ignoring her texts for the past three days. He already knew that she would pretend to be irritated even though she was most likely sick with worry.

“Can we sit down, Ned?” Peter finally spoke, suddenly feeling very tired.

“Nope, suck it up- it’s your own fault that you can’t stand.”

Peter didn’t even notice that they made it to the C hallway until he felt MJ’s small hand grasp his wrist and sit him onto a bench.

“How’re you doing?” Peter could hear the concern lacing her otherwise indifferent voice.

He dropped his head into her lap.

“You good, pal?” MJ placed a hand on his neck, shaking him a bit.

He stared at the distal wall, trying to read a fundraiser flyer in a vain attempt to keep his eyes open.

She shook him again. “Peter, answer me.”

He rolled his head to look up to her. He didn’t know what to say.

Peter felt like he had lost everything when May hesitated to accept him. Every day since then had been a drug-induced dullness. He decidedly didn’t have the energy to give a long-winded explanation.

“May thinks I’m going through a phase. I haven’t answered Tony in four days. I tried benzos and now I’m eating them like Tic Tacs.”

MJ bit her lip, her heart breaking. She wedged her hand between her lap and his head before carefully standing and replacing his head onto the bench. She kneeled on the floor so she was eye-level with his slumped form. She kissed his forehead, resting her temple onto the bench next to his.

She glanced at Ned. “ _Go call Stark_ ,” she mouthed to him.

Ned nodded, ducking into the nearest bathroom to dial Tony’s number.

“Peter, I need you to listen to me.” She nearly missed the slight nod he returned to her.

“I’m sorry about May, babe; I really am, but you have to look at me, okay?”

He looked at her. MJ expected a teary gaze and clenched lips, but she was met with nothing but a blank expression and bored eyes.

“You can’t do this, Pete. You can’t. I know it hurts like hell, but I’m not letting you fuck with pills.”

“Too late.”

She sat up. “No, it’s not.” She was beginning to feel sick. “Do you have any idea how addictive Xanax is, Peter? It could kill you in a second.”

He snorted, rolling onto his back to stare at the panels of the ceiling. “That’s the goal.”

“Stop it.”

He kept his gaze trained on the ceiling.

“What do you think numbing yourself is gonna do?” She shifted when her legs began to ache from the awkward angle. “You’ve gotta have emotions to get through this. You have to process what happened, or you’re going to be miserable for a long time.”

His voice remained wholly level. “I’m gonna be miserable anyways. Might as well be calm during it.”

MJ scrubbed her palm over her face. She felt like she was talking to a brick wall. “Listen to me. Stark is probably on his way to get you and the bell’s about to ring, so there’s going to be a lot of people in the hall. I need you to wait in the bathroom while I grab your stuff. AP micro is in room EE15, right?”

He didn’t have the will or energy to protest as MJ tugged him off the bench.

—

“Get in the car.”

Peter got in the car.

Tony was silent as he turned the engine on and backed out of the school parking lot. Peter didn’t have much to say, either.

His mind was quiet. All that his body cared to feel was the leather of Tony’s car seat and the scratchiness that the smoke left behind when it travelled down his throat that morning.

“The office is gonna mark me down as unexcused,” Peter remarked, offhandedly.

Tony’s hand tightened around the wheel. “I’ll call you off.”

“Thanks. I really didn’t feel like taking my chem quiz, and-“

“That’s because you showed up to school on drugs, dumbass!” Tony suddenly snapped, voice verging on a yell. Peter decided that his voice was far too loud.

Tony didn’t stop. “Jesus fucking Christ, Peter! Really? _Xanax_?!” He took a sharp turn to the left. “You’re fucking fifteen and mixing drugs! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? I don’t give a shit how scared you are to come out to your aunt, this is _completely_ inexcusable!”

Peter shook his head. “That’s not it. I already told her.”

Tony didn’t answer. Peter wondered if he was already anticipating that it went poorly.

“She pretty much denied it. She hasn’t talked to me since Sunday night.” He picked a bit of crust from the corner of his mouth.

He pointedly kept his hands on the wheel, ignoring the urge to reach over the center console and comfort the boy that he practically considered his own child.

Tony certainly hadn’t anticipated this. He recalled the day he first met May Parker, all sweet smiles and soft eyes and polite words. He had spent a solid thirty minutes on her couch, easily making pleasant conversation while nibbling on that horrendous walnut date loaf out of pure formality. She had raved about her nephew; not only about his high level of intellect, but his stellar personality as well.

She went on at length about the boy. She had picked up a framed picture that was sitting on the mantle, shoving into Tony’s hand. It was of Peter, an awkward school photo of him giving a forced smile. Tony had noticed how the lapel of his button down was inside-out.

He had went to the Parker household that day with the sole intent of recruiting Spider-Man for battle, but found himself asking questions about the boy’s personal life. He hadn’t anticipated that the kid behind the mask would be so bright. He had made a mental note to register him for a Stark Industry internship.

He knew that he would get an ally and an employee out of Peter, but he never expected to gain a family member.

“You’re staying with me for the next couple of days. I’ll call May and let her know.”

Peter continued to stare blankly out of the windshield. “Okay.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehehe  
> comments are greatly appreciated! it lets me know that people actually enjoy the work i put in and it puts a huge smile on my face <3  
> fic requests are open on my [tumblr!](https://iron-arachnid.tumblr.com/)  
> 


	6. blue moonshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You wouldn’t understand.” May smoothed Peter’s hair. “Every parent wants certain things for their kids, and it’s crushing when they don’t get that happiness.”
> 
> “Who says Peter isn’t happy?” Tony chewed his tongue. “Who says you get to pick his happiness?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blue moonshine  
> indica || lineage: thai/afghani || flavor: blueberry/cheese/earthy  
> —  
> tw: minor overdose in the chapter. proceed with care

* * *

“I’m not about to carry you in, so you better wake up. I’m perfectly willing to lock you in the car.”

Peter’s head was slumped onto the window, mouth hanging open. He answered with a very faint, flat whine.

“Christ, how much did you take, Peter?” Tony didn’t have the mental energy to deal with an overdose.

“Fuck, uh-“ he stopped to force his eyes somewhat open- “Like, three.”

“Three? Please be more specific.”

Peter sucked some drool off his lip. “Three bars. There was a two on the back of them.”

“Holy fuck, _six milligrams?_ How did you not blackout-“

“Oh!” Peter cut him off, breathily laughing. “I smoked, too. I think I forgot to open my window, so my room was probably hotboxed. Whoops.”

“ _Peter_ ,” Tony admonished. “This is not even _remotely_ funny. How long have you been using benzos, kid?”

“Uh, how many days ago was Wednesday?”

Tony glanced at the kid and then back at the road. “It’s Thursday, Pete. It’s been a day.”

“Then I’ve been using benzos for two days,” Peter garbled, giving Tony a clumsy smile.

“Let’s rehash this.” Tony pulled into the parking garage of the tower, shifting his body to face Peter. “You took six milligrams on your second Xanax high- which was before school, might I add- and you’re smiling about it?.”

His grin widened. “Yep.”

_You little fucker._

—

When Tony successfully hauled Peter inside, he dumped him onto the nearest couch and promised him a grilled cheese sandwich.

Out of every fucked up thing he had seen in his life, this somehow topped Tony’s list. Peter’s situation sent a wave of pity and nausea through his gut.

Peter was groaning from his spot on the sofa. _Your problem, kid- not mine._

In the course of a few days, Peter’s support system had essentially been uprooted. The woman that he had trusted to be consistently supportive turned him away like it was the logical thing to do.

The sounds of discomfort persisted. Tony continued slathering butter onto thick slices of artisan bread.

He wondered if May ever verbally expressed her intolerance to Peter. Her honestly couldn’t imagine her muttering a quiet comment of disgust towards two women holding hands on the street or making a homophobic joke.

Tony chose to ignore the soft “ _oh, fuck_ ” that Peter let out.

The thought of innocent, exuberant Peter chasing pills with bud was nearly incomprehensible. He didn’t want to think of the boy sitting alone in his bed, sobbing until his chest heaved and his head pounded.

Peter’s groans became excessively loud. “Peaking,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.

“What was that?” Tony wasn’t really intent on listening.

“ _Peaking_ ,” Peter repeated a bit louder. “S’too much- It’s-“

Tony looked up from the stove. Peter was curled up on the couch, knees pulled to his chest. “Pete?” He abandoned the sandwich and rushed to the kid’s side.

“Peaking. Peaking. _Peaking_.” His breathing was uncharacteristically fast in comparison to the rest of his staggered body. “Too intense, too much- _Tony_ -“

“Fuck.” _If this kid overdoses on my watch, I won’t be able to live with myself._

He laid Peter down and rolled him onto his side, unsure of what to do. He had stopped his mumbling, reduced to incoherent sobs of sickness. Tony felt like he was overheating, anxiety completely overtaking his ability to come up with a way to help the poor boy.

“I’m gonna take you to the med bay, okay? You need to try to stand.” He wrapped his arms around Peter’s ribs, dragging him to his feet.

Peter was beginning to slip to the floor, only answering with a muted groan.

“Try your best, Pete. _Please_.” Pure adrenaline was allowing Tony to shoulder the majority of Peter’s weight.

Peter whimpered once more, loosely clinging to Tony’s sleeve.

“Peter? Can you hear me?”

He nearly threw up when Peter’s eyes rolled back. The kid promptly went limp, and his seemingly lifeless body slammed to the ground.

Tony was stunned. He was pretty sure his whole body was being overtaken with tremors, but his mind was too far away to notice. All he could see was Peter, slack and drooling on his expensive Aubusson carpet. He kneeled to touch his cheek.

“FRIDAY?”

“He’s alive, boss. He seems to be experiencing syncope induced by Alprazolam.”

“No shit!” Tony forced himself off of the floor, pacing in an attempt to burn off his anxiety. “What the fuck do I do?!”

“As far as I can tell, Alprazolam-induced syncope is fairly common when too much is ingested. The overdose is most likely minor. He will experience memory loss of the last hour or so upon waking.”

Tony continued to pace. Nothing about the situation seemed real.

FRIDAY spoke again, her voice calm. “Boss, Peter needs to be relocated to the med bay immediately for  
treatment. Please refrain from an anxiety attack- I’m contacting May Parker.”

—

“Tony?” Came May’s strained voice over the phone. “Is there something you needed?”

“I’m here with Peter, May. You have to be here as soon as possible.”

May didn’t respond immediately. “Why?”

Tony glanced at Peter, who lay unconscious on a med cot. “I have some bad news.”

She inhaled sharply. “Bad news?”

 _Don’t act like you care, you heartless bitch._ “Peter had a minor overdose. I had to take him out of school after Ned called me. He told me he took three bars of Xanax.”

“Oh- Oh, _Christ_ …” A broken cry ripped out of her throat. “Oh, God.”

“ _May_ ,” Tony reproached. “You need to get over here. Should I send someone over to get you?”

She sniffled into the phone again. “I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

—  
It was hard for Tony to usher May to the medical unit when she was inconsolably weeping. Tony offered no words of consolation as he urged her forward with a stiff hand on the shoulder. He couldn’t find any reason to try and make her feel better.

“You really hurt him, May,” he finally told her, refusing to make eye contact as she immediately sat next to Peter’s bed.

May’s jaw locked. “I don’t know what Peter told you I said, but-“

“He didn’t tell me anything,” Tony gritted out. “He’s been too high to contact me since Tuesday.”

May didn’t answer. Her tears persisted.

 _It’s your damn fault he’s unconscious in a hospital bed_ , Tony inwardly seethed, feeling nothing but disgust when he looked at her. _Those are crocodile tears._

“From what I can tell,” Tony continued, “His biggest fear was to not be accepted by you, and here we are.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” May smoothed Peter’s hair. “Every parent wants certain things for their kids, and it’s crushing when they don’t get that happiness.”

“Who says Peter isn’t happy?” Tony chewed his tongue. “Who says _you_ get to pick his happiness?”

May sighed, her damp eyes closing. “Think about it, Tony. He’s going to get a hard time from people for the rest of his life.”

“A ‘hard time’?” He scoffed. “A hard time like the one you gave to him for pouring his heart out to you?”

May fixed him with a pissed-off look. “I’m not some villain, Tony.” She returned her gaze to her sleeping nephew. “My parents were traditional Toscani. I grew up hearing nothing positive about homosexuals.”

She paused for a shaky inhale before continuing. “I’ve thought a lot about what I said to Peter that night. All I can see is how sad he was when I turned him away.” When she finally looked back at Tony, he saw a fresh wave of tears spilling onto her cheeks. “I have no idea how to help him. This is the first time in my life that I feel lost with him. I pushed my poor baby away, and now he’s in a hospital bed.”

Huh, so she wasn’t a horrible person- she was just ignorant. A bit of the disdain Tony had developed for her that day ebbed.

He sat next to May, watching the steady rise-and-fall of Peter’s chest. Now that the thick of his high was over with, Peter seemed blissfully peaceful; as though he was just a tired teenage boy taking a nap.

“He’s trying to reach out to you, May.” He smoothed Peter’s sheets before standing and turning to leave, choosing to give them some privacy. “Don’t shut him out now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so short im high on ambien and i can smell colors. i literally see jesus’s eyes  
> fic requests are open on my [tumblr!](https://iron-arachnid.tumblr.com/)  
> 


	7. candy jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know.” Peter shifted under his blankets.“I promise I won’t do it again.”
> 
> Tony’s gaze hardened, stern and fatherly. “That’s not enough, Pete. I’m keeping close tabs on you from now on.”
> 
> Peter frowned. “You don’t trust-”
> 
> “No, Peter, I don’t trust you.” Tony wasn’t in the mood to be guilted. “You went behind my back three times now. You clearly don’t have the capacity to make good choices.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> candy jack  
> sativa || lineage: jack herer/skunk #1 || flavor: sweet/citrus/tropical

A stabbing pain in Peter’s gut rattled him from his sleep. He whimpered as the initial sharpness in his stomach rapidly declined into dullness, the remaining ache proving to be debilitatingly nauseating.

 

He couldn’t remember a damn thing. His choice to pop Xanax was admittedly reckless, but he had made sure to do a bit of research online so he didn’t accidentally kill himself in his pursuit of getting fucked up. He had read that memory loss was a pretty common occurrence when a user went too hard, but he didn’t expect a complete fucking  _ blank  _ where the past few hours should have been.

 

He was yet to open his eyes, but Peter knew she was there. The soft quality of her breath was the only sound in the otherwise silent room, so very indicative of May.

 

The weighty hangover coupled with the unannounced presence of his aunt escalated his exhaustion. He wished that he was still blacked out.

 

Peter did not expect to find May at his sickbed (not to imply that he expected to wake up on a sickbed). Not only had he not spoken to her since Sunday evening, he had also been pointedly avoiding her since their last interaction. He had refused to enter their apartment unless he pressed his ear to the entry door, ensuring that May was not in the living room by means of his heightened hearing. Only then would he crack open the door, slip inside, and make a straight-shot for his bedroom before she could detect his presence.

 

He had spent the last few days wanting to knock on her door and figure things out. The fact that she was here served as proof that she wanted to do the same.

 

He finally allowed his bleary eyes to fall open.  _ Time to face the music. _

 

May, who seemed to had just stopped crying, submitted to tears at the sight of her fatigued nephew. She reached out to brush his cheek. “Oh, honey-”

 

Peter, without thinking much of it, immediately dodged her touch. He didn’t feel too bad about her hurt look the action caused.

 

“Where’s Mr Stark?” He asked, distantly. “I want to talk to him.”

 

She furrowed her brow, as if his request was absurd. “Peter-”

 

_ “What?”  _ He snapped, attempting to push himself into a sitting position. “What the fuck is it?!”

 

May’s eye settled on the floor. “Don’t talk to me like that.” Her voice was passive, brittle. 

 

The smile he fixed her with was one of sadness and spite. “Not too fun to be shot while you’re down, huh?”

 

She didn’t respond. 

 

“I want Mr Stark,” Peter asserted once again. “I can’t talk to you right now.” 

 

She continued to stare at the ground, unmoving.

 

_ Stop feeling sorry for yourself. _

 

_ “May.” _

 

“I’m sorry.” She started towards the door, pausing when she reached it. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

 

He elected not to respond, slumping onto the cot and shutting his eyes.  _ I don’t owe her anything. _

 

\--

 

“He wants you.”

 

His hand paused on the screen of his phone. “What?”

 

“He wants you,” she repeated. She sat heavily onto the sofa before resting her head in her hands.

 

He was on his feet immediately. “Is he okay? How long has he been awake?”

 

“Two minutes, probably.” 

 

_ Two minutes.  _ Tony shut his mouth at that.

 

In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best move to leave the two of them alone. He knew the kid wouldn’t be ready and willing to see his aunt, but he didn’t expect it to be less than two minutes before he pushed her away in favor of his mentor. He wondered how concise Peter had been in his dismissal.

 

May’s foot drummed against the floor. He couldn’t deny he felt bad for the woman- she was trying her best.

 

“Did anything happen?” Tony finally settled on.

 

May’s fingers tightened in her hair. “Just go, Tony. He’s waiting.”

 

\--

 

Peter was glaring at his phone when Tony entered the med bay. The kid still looked exhausted, but was at least sober.

 

Tony clicked the door shut to announce his arrival. “What’re you doing, bud?”

 

“Quizlet.” Peter turned the phone to the man. “Biochem flashcards; haven’t had much time to study these past few days.”

 

“Want me to quiz you?” Tony offered, tone deliberately light. He accepted the phone when Peter offered it to him.

 

Tony didn’t put much effort into helping Peter study. It was nothing but a distraction for the both of them. The kid was struggling to speak, each answer he gave either half-right or incorrect. Tony didn’t correct him. Peter’s eyes were sticky and far-away, twitching in their fight to stay open. He occasionally finished an answer with a sickened whine.

 

He could practically feel the nausea rolling through Peter’s stomach. Tony knew what a benzo blackout felt like. When he assumed leadership of Stark Industries at the fresh age of twenty-one, it became apparent that he was not at all mentally equipped for the task. Tony had been careful to mask just how overwhelmingly stressed he was when addressing shareholders or journalists, but it eventually became unbearable. He was fixed with a prescription for Alprazolam in order to fight of the rapidly accumulating anxiety that heading a corporation caused. 

 

The quarter of a caplet that he was originally directed to take as needed quickly became two or three bars a night.  At that point in his life, he only got out of bed in the morning knowing there was a bottle of Xanax waiting for him in his bedside drawer that he could pound after fulfilling the day’s heavy workload. He initially justified it as an incentive for stress-free productivity. He had ignored the nagging voice in his head that told him to  _ slow the fuck down. _

 

In 1994, his addiction peaked in the conference hall of Stark Tower in front of a crowd of reporters.

 

He started his day with five bars and a tumbler of bourbon, tuning out the sound of Obadiah pounding at his bedroom door. When he finally managed to yank himself out of his chair, Obadiah had entered. The man had given Tony a crestfallen look, pushing him back into the chair and muttering something about calling off the press conference. Tony was once again out of his seat before Obadiah could exit.

 

He payed Obadiah’s yelling no heed as he stumbled to the elevator. He clung to the lift’s wall, legs threatening to keel under him. His barely conscious mind cancelled out any regard for appearing properly in the public eye. 

 

When the elevator arrived to the lobby floor, the sea of journalists turned towards the noise of the doors sliding open. Tony hadn’t noticed. He left his head slumped on the paneling until the doors once again closed. The vultures were quick to descend on the lift, slamming the call button. They found Tony on the floor, completely blacked out.

 

They made no move to call for assistance. They bombarded his unconscious form with camera flashes.

 

The headlines were quick: “ _ Young Stark Heir Under The Influence At Press Conference”. “Tony Stark Overdoses On Xanax”. “Future of Stark Industries Questionable As CEO Struggles With Addiction”. _

 

It took six months of rehab to wean Tony off of the medication. He wondered if Peter was too young to have knowledge of his addiction.

 

He saw himself in that hospital bed, young and in way over his head; too many responsibilities to account for. 

 

“Do you know what happened to me in the nineties?” Tony finally asked.

 

Peter snapped out of his haze. “You took over S.I., right?”

 

“Yeah, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” Tony turned Peter’s phone off and handed it back.

 

Peter pursed his lips before shaking his head. “What happened?”

 

Tony tugged his sleeves down distractedly. “The whole pill addiction thing?” It came out as a question, as if trying to jog Peter’s memory of something he wasn’t alive for.

 

“Pill addiction?” The boy repeated.

 

“Yep, pill addiction.” Tony didn’t like to talk about it often. “1994- overdosed on X in front of a crowd. There’re videos of it floating around; I won’t stop you from watching them if you’re curious.”

 

Peter’s eyes widened. “I won’t watch them.” It was barely above a whisper.

Tony clapped Peter’s knee, giving it a light squeeze. “You’re a good kid, Pete. I was addicted for two years. Let me tell you, it’s not worth it.”

 

“I know.” He shifted under his blankets. Peter wasn’t bothering to hide his surprise at this sudden admittance. “I promise I won’t do it again.”

 

Tony’s gaze hardened, stern and fatherly. “That’s not enough, Pete. I’m keeping close tabs on you from now on.”

 

Peter frowned. “You don’t trust-”

 

“No, Peter, I don’t trust you.” Tony wasn’t in the mood to be guilted. “You went behind my back three times now. You don’t have the capacity to make good choices.”

 

Peter’s frown persisted.

 

“I spent a half a year in rehab. Every single moment of being clean was agony. Sobriety felt like the worst anxiety. I  _ refuse  _ to let you reach that point.”

 

“I’m sorry.”  _ I really am a conniving little shit.  _

 

Tony sighed, shaking his head. “Don’t be, Pete.”

 

“But I have every right to be!” Peter was full-out whining now. “You’ve poured your heart out to me a  _ million fucking times  _ these past couple weeks, and it might as well be for shit. I’m such a horrible person. My own aunt pushed me away.”

 

The man rolled his eyes. “Chill out, martyr. She showed up, didn’t she? Stop playing that card.”

 

_ He’s got a point.  _ “M’not a martyr.”

 

Tony smiled, the wide grin bringing a bit of light to the otherwise dark conversation. “You’re a  _ bit  _ of a martyr, bud.” 

 

Peter looked down. “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize. We  _ just  _ discussed this.” Tony smoothed his hair.

 

Peter kept a precise focus on the hand in his hair. When Tony asked if he was ready to talk to May, Peter didn’t answer. 

 

“I’m tired, Tony.”

 

Tony hummed.

 

“Let me sleep?”

 

“I’ll be here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fic requests are open on my [tumblr!](https://iron-arachnid.tumblr.com/)  
> 


	8. vanilla kush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter’s mindset hadn’t evolved with the severity of his actions. In truth, he hadn’t seen what he was doing as anything but a teenager letting off steam; a sojourn from his usual ‘follow the rules’ attitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vanilla kush  
> indica || lineage: afghan/kashmir || flavor: vanilla/sweet/flowery

**iMessage**

**_Today, 6:40 PM_ **

 

_Ned: All good?_

 

_Peter: yeah_

 

_Ned: Good_

 

\--

 

Tony had left Peter once he assumed the kid fell asleep. Peter was glad to see him go.

 

There was a tangible awkwardness after their conversation, Tony stiffly sitting at his bedside while Peter settled down and tried to sleep. Peter appreciated the notion, but the bounce of his mentor’s leg kept him from resting. He loosened his clenched jaw and willed his breathing to be even. Once he heard Tony quietly shuffle out of the room, he was on his feet and on the way to the restroom.

 

His appearance was unfamiliar. He gently swiped a ring finger over gray eyelids, wincing at the rough texture of dead skin.

 

 _“No, Peter- I don’t trust you,”_ Tony had said barely a half hour ago.

 

 _How encouraging,_ Peter inwardly seethed. _I could kill him- metaphorically speaking._ He buffed oil off of his chin with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

 

Peter didn’t understand how Tony could so forthrightly denounce his confidence in Peter, much less to his face. For the sake of ending the conversation, Peter had apologized for ‘not having the capacity to make good choices’, even though he couldn’t agree less. He considered himself a rational kid. In his opinion, Tony was making it about himself; just like people said he always did. Could the man not see that _he_ was the one suffering?

 

Then again- _“I’m keeping close tabs on you from now on.” “You went behind my back three times now.”_ _“Sobriety felt like the worst anxiety.”_

 

_“I refuse to let you reach that point.”_

 

Huh. Maybe the distrust was warranted.

 

Peter’s mindset hadn’t evolved with the severity of his actions. In truth, he hadn’t seen what he was doing as anything but a teenager letting off steam; a sojourn from his usual ‘follow the rules’ attitude. Tony had been the villain in his mind; not his self-destructive behaviors. Tony was just trying to diverge Peter from hitting rock bottom like he did.

 

Tony just wanted the best. Peter felt like shit for blowing him off. May was just confused- Peter wouldn’t apologize for turning her away.

 

Peter could understand her culture-bred ignorance, but there was no way to excuse how disrespectfully she spoke to him. May _was_ trying to change, but the point still stood- she dismissed her child in his moment of vulnerability. To him, that verged beyond ignorance; it was _weakness._ In that moment of vulnerability, she disregarded her love for her nephew in favor of pre-instilled values.

 

He was willing to make amends, to help her grow beyond her bigotry; but the scenario itself wouldn’t be soon forgotten.

 

Then, there was MJ, who served as further proof that he was a moron who didn’t think shit through.

 

 _“Okay, that one’s my fault. I’m the one who convinced you to smoke.”_ He _knew_ that she blamed herself for everything. She was probably making herself sick over Peter, wishing that she had never given him his very first hit off of a joint; praying that she wasn’t the one who inadvertently pushed him into trying something harder.

 

He yearned for that first innocent time, when MJ had pulled a baggie out of her dresser and shoved it under Peter’s nose. He had recoiled at the strong smell (which he now found to be delicious) and stepped away. He remembered yelling, “Is that _pot?!_ ”, before slamming a hand over his mouth. MJ had laughed at him, mocking him for using the word “pot” and assuring him that it was perfectly safe. After thirty minutes of convincing, Peter was hacking up a lung and airily stumbling around.

 

_I need to text her._

 

He sent her a message, keeping it brief. _‘_ **_I need you to know that you did nothing to facilitate this, MJ.’_ ** She didn’t respond.

 

He thought about Ned as he slid into a sitting position on the floor. When Peter revealed his new hobby to his best friend, Ned was shocked. Peter had been, up to that point, a fucking nerd. Ned warned him to be careful, and Peter promised him that he was only doing it to soften the edges of his otherwise stressful life. Now that all this bullshit happened, he had a feeling that Ned wouldn’t believe that explanation anymore.

 

_So, to sum it up, I’ve been playing the blame game._

 

It wasn’t Tony’s fault. It wasn’t May’s fault. It wasn’t the fault of MJ or Ned.

 

It wasn’t the fault of the bud or the benzos.

 

It wasn’t even his fault- he just lacked willpower and self-preservation.

 

Peter was never one to say ‘no’ to what he wanted, even if what he wanted was dangerous. Inversely, that which was a risk always left Peter wanting more. He was on a constant crave for adrenaline. The extreme always made the mundane undesirable.

 

He had always chalked it up to being a thrillseeker, despite never stopping to examine his behavior.

 

After a certain point, smoking wasn’t there to make the kickback more fun. It became the only way he could sleep.

 

Spider Man was no longer a way to ‘help out the little guy’- it was a noisy, dangerous distraction.

 

_Fuck. I’m dead- I feel like I’m dead. Am I dead?_

 

There was a sudden rap at the bathroom door. Peter didn’t startle.

 

_I’m numb- I’m desensitized. I’m dead. I’m totally dead. Shit._

 

“Pete?” Tony called, muffled by the door. “Meet me in the the living room when you’re done in there, okay?”

 

 _Shit. Shit. What the fuck is wrong with me?_ “Okay.”

 

\--

Tony was busying himself with TV when Peter entered the living room. The shopping channel played on the large screen, so quiet that it was nearly muted.

 

“You gonna buy one of those?” Peter asked as he sat next to Tony, referring to the mini convection ovens being advertised.

 

“I might, actually. I mean, an oven that can hard-boil eggs? Now _that’s_ innovation.”

 

Peter chuckled. “Says one of the most famous innovators on the planet.”

 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate what other people make, right?” Tony sounded like he was trying to crack a joke, but the delivery was dry and strained. Peter laughed nonetheless.

 

 _This is awkward,_ Peter thought.

 

Tony suddenly snapped to face Peter. “I’m just gonna get to it, honestly.”

 

Peter’s brow shot up. “What?”

 

“I want to figure this whole situation out as soon as possible. I don’t want to see you suffer through withdrawals, and I doubt you want to, either.” Tony reached into his pocket, grabbing something and holding it out to Peter.

 

When Peter opened his palm, Tony dropped two small vials of golden, viscous liquid into his hand. “Uh-”

 

“It’s concentrate- medical grade.” Tony swiped one off of Peter’s palm and stuck it under his nose. Peter inhaled, and sure enough, the potent smell of weed met his nostrils.

 

Tony continued on. “This stuff is 99% THC, so even a tiny bit will knock you on your ass. You just screw them onto a vaporizer-”

 

Peter chortled. “Oh, shit, I’m gonna be out here reppin’ the vape nation?”

 

Tony sighed. “Please stop talking.” He reached under the coffee table and grabbed a box. “Here’s a vaporizer for you. None of this stuff is ever leaving the compound, you hear me? You get to use it twice a week, and only while under my supervision.”

 

“Why? I don’t need babysat, I can handle myself.”

 

“Oh, I know you can handle yourself- I just want to see what you’re like high.” Tony laughed to himself, setting the box onto the couch. “Plus, I don’t want you using it constantly at your house. The vapor isn’t thick and doesn’t have a smell, so you could theoretically get away with using it anywhere. Bad idea.”

 

Peter held up one of the tanks, awestruck. “Where have these things been all of my life?”

 

Tony ignored the question, assuming it to be rhetorical. “Once these two run out, you’re done. No more drugs; tests once a week.”

 

“That’s fair.” Peter stuck the cartridges into the box before pausing, trying to formulate his next words. “Why are you doing this, Mr Stark?”

Tony scoffed. “I don’t want you smoking random mids off the street, kid.” He paused. “Plus, going cold turkey sucks, and I want to wean you off in the safest way possible.”  


“I don’t smoke _mids._ Gross.” Peter quickly digressed. “Really, though- thank you so much, Mr Stark.”

 

“How about you thank me by being honest from now on?” It wasn’t a request.

 

Peter dropped his gaze to his lap. _Be honest, for your sake and his._ He looked back up at Tony, firmly. “I will. I promise.” For the first time, he was being genuine.

 

Tony gave him a soft smile before slinging his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “I know you will, Pete.”

 

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, [weed vapes are real.](https://weedmaps.com/brands/brass-knuckles/vape-pens/sativa-vape-pens/brass-knuckles-maui-wowie-cartridge) i used to have one. that bitch was amazing. i cried when she ran out.  
> fic requests are open on my [tumblr!](https://iron-arachnid.tumblr.com/)  
> 


	9. pink champagne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The nihilist in me is saying that you’re only trying to protect Spider Man. For some reason, the optimist in me is saying that you’re trying to save Peter.”
> 
> “That’s not the optimist, that’s the rationalist.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pink champagne  
> indica || lineage: wow kush/raspberry kush/phantom || flavor: berry/sweet/grape

Peter’s nerves were tangible on the ride back to his apartment complex. His jittery shifting against the leather seats of the Audi consistently broke the silence. Tony was at an uncharacteristic loss for words.

The kid didn’t protest when Tony offered to take him home, but that didn’t mean he was ready to face May. Tony chose to take the long way back, drawing out the drive for as long as possible. He wanted to give Peter a little more time, even if it was only a few minutes.

Though the last few weeks of Peter’s life had to have been unfathomably difficult, Tony was barely concealing just how great of a toll that his intern’s struggle was taking on him. The worry he felt for Peter was constant and choking, a type of worry he had never felt before- one only a parent could feel for their distressed child. It was a pleading breed of empathy; desperate and distracting, leaving him with unwarranted and unexplainable guilt.

_I wish it was me instead of him. I would gladly suffer if it meant Peter could breathe easy._

_Have I done nothing but make the situation worse? Could I have done more?_

_Maybe I’m still not doing enough._ Tony cracked the knuckles of his hand before flicking on his turn signal.

“Wrong way, Mr Stark,” Peter said as Tony turned the way opposite of his apartment.

“I know, I want coffee. Do you like Dunkin or Starbucks better?”

The kid’s nose scrunched up. “Starbucks tastes like piss.”

“Good answer.” Tony continued in the direction of Dunkin.

He made a quick trip through the drive thru. He ordered a few donuts, a black coffee for himself, and a vanilla chai for Peter before parking his car in the restaurant's lot. They sat quietly for a spell as Peter scarfed down two donuts.

“Do you wanna go anywhere else?” Tony offered, setting his coffee into the cupholder.

Peter sucked frosting off his his thumb. “Honestly? Anywhere but home.” He sounded tense, but capped it off with an ingenuine laugh.

Tony gave an equally fake laugh. “Just pick a place and we can go. You can invite your friends to come along, if you want.”

“I doubt they’ll associate with me anymore.” Peter breathily chuckled again, morphing into a sort of silent whine. “Can we just, like, stay in the parking lot for a minute?”

Tony grunted in confirmation. He reclined his seat a bit, picking up his coffee and taking a swig.  _Who made this? It’s flavorless._ It burned all the way down, settling in his stomach with a persistent sting.

“Mr Stark, can I ask you something?”

“You know you can.”  _Uh oh._

Peter stirred his chai with his straw. “Are you okay?”

Tony wanted to say, ‘no, obviously not.’ He figured that would make Peter feel worse. _He’s got me backed into a corner._

“Okay in what context?”

“Like, throughout my bullshit.” He took a long sip of his drink. “I don’t want you to lose sleep over me.”

Tony didn’t answer. He rubbed at his waterlines, crust scratching the skin of his eyes.

Peter continued on. “What am I to you?”

 _What?_ “That’s a loaded question.”

“Maybe it is. You should still answer it, though- I just can’t see why you’re doing this for me.”

“Let me ask you something,” Tony reflected. “What do you think I am to you?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Okay, okay. I rescind that stupid question.” He returned his now drained cup to the holder.

“The nihilist in me is saying that you’re only trying to protect Spider Man. For some reason, the optimist in me is saying that you’re trying to save Peter.”

“That’s not the optimist, that’s the rationalist.” He heard the kid reach for another donut. “Don’t eat another donut.”

Peter took a large bite anyways. “It’s the rationalist?”

“Yep.”

Peter waited for Tony to answer, sighing when he didn’t further elaborate. “Could you, like, explain?”

“Calm down, I can’t just pull a full-fledged explanation out of my ass.”  _I’m stalling. What are you to me?_ “I don’t know what you are to me.”

“Oh.”

“This isn’t gonna make any sense, so bear with me.”

He tore a piece off of the donut and ate it, speaking with a full mouth. “Nothing you say makes sense as it is.”

“I guess it’s not right to say that I don’t know.” Tony found himself grasping for words. “Deep down, I know exactly what you mean to me. I just can’t vocalize it.”

Tony continued on. “I won’t be so bold to say that you’re like a son to me, but I care about you. I want to see you thrive. I want to protect you. I don’t know how it happened, but you’ve easily became one of my top priorities.”

When he thought about it, his thoughts of Peter extended beyond a need to shelter him from the bad guys. It was mundane fretting alongside the fierce protection. He often found himself thinking of Peter in passing; thoughts of  _‘I bet Peter would like this movie’_ or  _‘I should take that kid out to buy new clothes’._  He cared for the kid not out of obligation, but out of love.

“Actually, I change my mind. You’re definitely like a son to me.” He ignored the urge to pat Peter on the shoulder, eyes settling on his own hands.

Peter wasn’t supposed to be anything but a trainee to keep in check. Peter was supposed to be an innocent, nerdy kid with none of the troubles he had. Tony wasn’t supposed to care like he did.

Tony couldn’t be happier that it wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.

“Don’t expect me to call you dad.” He could hear Peter’s smile. “Is it weird to say I’m happy?”

“I think I’d feel weirder if you didn’t. This is just a weird situation, I guess.”

“Weird in a good way, right?”

“Definitely good,” Tony assured, “but definitely weird.”

Peter was quiet. Tony let himself glance at the kid. He looked sick.

“Let me turn it back around on you. Are  _you_ okay, Pete?”

The kid was silent for a moment more before responding with a question. “Do I have to go home?”

Tony wanted to say, ‘no, of course you don’t.’ He wanted to turn the car around and never let Peter out of his sight. He wished he could shield the kid from every fear or threat. Realistically, he knew that he wasn’t the only person that Peter needed. Reconciling with his aunt, no matter how painful, was something that needed to be done as soon as possible.

“I’m sorry, bud. We shouldn’t put this off.” 

He didn’t protest. “I know.”

Tony waited another few minutes before turning out of the parking lot. He let Peter have control of the music. He shuffled the song a couple of times before settling on  “[Poetic Justice](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=saxuQLJCxbc)” by Kendrick Lamar. Tony wasn’t one for the genre, but he enjoyed the mellow beat nonetheless.

-

Peter didn’t let himself hesitate when he got to his front door. He unlocked it and pushed it open slowly, scoping the room. His breath caught.

May was on the sofa, sitting upright and staring at the turned off TV. He watched her eyes fall closed with the sound of the door.  He couldn’t place what her expression was. He stood in the entryway for a moment, unsure of what to do.

He took a shallow, shuddering breath. “May?”

She remained sitting. Peter wanted to throw up. His breathing stayed low.

“May.” 

“Peter.” She got to her feet.  _“Peter.”_

He nearly collapsed when May pulled him into her arms, sobbing into his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fic requests are open on my [tumblr!](https://iron-arachnid.tumblr.com/)  
> 


	10. blackberry cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter was away from his immediate vices. He was exhausted. He wanted his freedom to be calm.
> 
> “I’m not trying to cause any more trouble.” He inhaled briefly before continuing. “I just don’t think I have the energy to explain myself anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blackberry cream  
> lineage: blackberry kush/cookies and cream || flavor: berry/sweet/vanilla

“What are we gonna do about this?”

 

Whether May heard this question through her presumably happy tears was unknown to Peter. She only continued to hold him. Peter momentarily allowed himself to hold her right back, pretending that it was nothing but a loving hug from his aunt.

 

He tried again after a few more moments had passed. “May, how is this gonna pan out?”

 

“Peter.” It came out as a statement; not one of acknowledgement or warning, just another breath of his name. 

 

His patience was being spread thin. He shifted his hands to May’s shoulders, pushing her off and holding her at arm’s length. “I’m serious.”

 

Her face told him that she found the question unpleasant. “Are we really gonna do this right now?”

 

“Yes?” Peter responded incredulously. “Where do we stand, May? What is our perception of each other going to be after all of this?”  _ Please don’t make me deal with this stubborn bullshit. _

 

She wrapped a hand around his forearm, squeezing it softly. “I’m not going to let my perception change. I don’t  _ want  _ my perception to change.” 

 

“It already changed.”

 

He saw her cheek hollow out as she bit the inside of it. “You’re still my baby.”

 

“I know, Aunt May.” ‘ _ Aunt May’? Since when do I call her ‘Aunt May’?.  _ “I’m glad, I really am, but you  _ have  _ to look at me differently.”

 

“That’s just counterproductive.”

 

“It’s not.”  _ Don’t twist what I said.  _ “Don’t take my words out of context. If you’re ever going to warm up to having a gay nephew, you’re going to have to acknowledge that I am.”

 

She shook her head, frustration arising on her features. “I accept you, Peter- I do.”

 

“I’m not looking for your acceptance.” He let go of her shoulders, tone rising. “I shouldn’t  _ have  _ to look for acceptance. My existence doesn’t thrive off of your approval!”

 

“Now _ you’re  _ the one taking my words out of context!” Her voice crescendoed as his did. “You  _ know _ that’s not what I meant. You’re just being inflammatory; making me look like the villain when I’m trying my best to adapt as quickly as possible!”

 

Peter’s next hasty accusation died in his throat. He genuinely didn’t mean to imply villainy. He still figured his point was valid, but it obviously didn’t translate. Until that moment, he failed to realize that May  _ was  _ struggling- not nearly to the extent or scale of Peter’s struggling, of course- but struggling nonetheless.

 

“This whole situation has just been a huge miscommunication.” He was considerably quieter. May only nodded in agreement.

 

“Thank you for forgiving me.”

 

Peter nodded. “Thanks for trying your best.”

 

She stepped away from him, moving to the other side of the island. She pulled out a stack of mixing bowls and a couple of cutting boards from the lower cabinets. “You hungry?” She asked.

 

“Of course. What are you making?”

 

She lifted the smallest bowl off of the stack, setting it down in front of her. “No idea. Let’s just figure it out as we go along.” Peter caught her grin before she turned to the fridge.

 

He smiled to himself as well.

 

**\--**

 

**iMessage**

**_Today,  3:37 AM_ **

 

_ Ned: PEter _

 

_ Ned: PETER look at the snap gc _

 

_ Ned: I know you’re up you just put something on your story _

 

_ Ned: Just scroll up and read everything you missed _

 

_ Peter: chill out sis im reading _

 

_ \-- _

 

**Your Friendly Neighborhood Hooligans**

 

_ MJ: i have a proposition _

 

_ Ned: Oh no _

 

_ MJ: so tomorrow we shld like get up early and like go to  _ _ the park or some shit _

 

_ MJ: bc ever since break started ive beeb waking up at like noon so _

 

_ MJ: been* lol _

 

_ Ned: I’m down! Peter? _

 

_ MJ: p i gotta know so hurry up _

 

_ Peter: sorry sorry _

 

_ Peter: and yeah i’ll go _

 

\--

 

Peter was up two hours before his alarm clock the following day.

 

His mornings were standardly miserable- more often than not, he would just lay around until he made himself physically ill with lethargy. That morning, however, was fresh with uncharacteristic energy when his feet hit the cold hardwood at five AM.

 

He tiptoed into the kitchen. The room was still fairly dark, bathed only with pale morning light beginning to creep through the windows. The sleepiness of the apartment was oddly revitalizing. He stood for a moment, cracking his fingers against the granite countertop as he breathed easy for the first time in a while.

 

He felt unbothered; refreshed. It was calming to not be under the influence or a watchful eye.

 

Rather than get his daily cream-heavy coffee, he sat himself on a barstool empty-handed. He fully intended to enjoy his natural energy until the inevitable crash.

 

He checked his phone. No notifications. He opened iMessage.

 

**iMessage**

**_Today, 5:14 AM_ **

 

_ Peter: Up? _

 

_ Tony: Yes _

 

_ Tony: Why _

 

_ Peter: wym “why” lmfao _

_ Tony: Is something happening? You’re never up before nine on weekends/breaks _

 

_ Peter: Oh no im gucc dw _

 

_ Tony: Gucc? _

 

_ Peter: Gucci _

 

_ Peter: Nvm _

 

_ Peter: idk why im telling you this but i feel a lot better. just like in general  _

 

_ Peter: and it wouldnt be that way without your help so. thanks _

 

_ Tony: No thanks needed, Pete. _

 

_ — _

 

“Ew, don’t sit in the grass! You’re gonna get ticks or something.”

 

MJ scoffed at Peter’s warning as she reclined fully onto the manicured park lawn. “This grass is saturated in chemicals. I’m sure any ticks would die on contact.”

 

Ned joined her on the ground, and Peter shrugged. “True.” He moved to sit as well.

 

“How goes it since last time?” MJ offhandedly asked.

 

Peter winced as the dry, prickly grass dug into his thighs. “It’s going, I guess.” 

 

“I somehow  _ knew  _ you were gonna say that,” Ned chimed in with a scoff.

 

Peter chuckled flatly. “You can read me like a book, dude.” He knew the impending barrage of questions was about to begin. He wasn’t really feeling it, but he also wasn’t about to deny their curiosity. He owed them that much, at least.

 

Ned’s second consecutive scoff didn’t surprise Peter. “Are you gonna answer MJ’s question or not?”

 

“Which part exactly are you asking about?” Peter responded, unhelpfully.  _ Actually, I might just deny them their curiosity. _

 

“You’re exhausting.”

 

“What do you mean ‘exhausting’-“

 

“Stop being children,” MJ cut in. “Peter, just tell us what you’re comfortable with sharing. If you’re not ready, then no pressure, okay?”

 

“We’re just havin’ a goof,” Peter justified.

 

“A ‘goof’?” MJ echoed. 

 

Ned shook his head. “That doesn’t qualify as a goof, Peter. You’re just exhausting.”

 

_ I know I am. _

 

He  _ knew  _ he was exhausting. He knew he caused frustration. Even so, at this point in the game, he felt the frustration he caused was justified. This was an inconvenience that didn’t pose a danger to himself or stir worry in others.

 

Peter was away from his immediate vices.  _ He  _ was exhausted. He wanted his freedom to be calm.

 

“I’m not trying to cause any more trouble.” He inhaled briefly before continuing. “I just don’t think I have the energy to explain myself anymore.”

 

MJ and Ned were silent for a spell, faces lax and stained with a bit of guilt. Peter kept his gaze level with both of them.

 

“I’m sorry.” Ned nudged Peter’s calf with his foot. “We’re not trying to stress you out or anything.”

 

“You’re not causing trouble,” MJ added.

 

Peter gave a soft smile, choosing to divert the conversation back to its original intent. “Tony bought me a shit ton of THC.”

 

MJ shot up into a sitting position. “No fucking way!” She laughed incredulously. “Why would he do that? Can I cop some?”

 

He laughed with her. “He did, I swear! He got me two small tanks and said I can’t touch weed once they’re drained- weaning me off, I guess. I’d let you use them, but he says they can’t leave the compound.”

 

“Fair.” She laid back down.

 

Peter watched her for a bit. She must’ve felt his eyes on her. She tore a fistful of grass out of the ground and threw it at him. Ned did the same.

 

“Hey!” Peter yelped, dodging the blades of grass. “What the hell’s that for, guys?” 

 

“Dunno.” MJ wiped her hands on her jeans. “Just love you, I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's that on that! thanks for reading! a sequel is in the works <3  
> fic requests are open on my [tumblr!](https://iron-arachnid.tumblr.com/)  
> r />

**Author's Note:**

> fic requests are open on my [tumblr!](https://iron-arachnid.tumblr.com/ask)  
> 


End file.
